


Talk it out

by Goldensword



Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Canon Divergence, Clover’s gay and trans don’t fight me on this because you will lose, Communication, Descriptions of gore, Fix It, Flashbacks, Flirting, Hurt/Comfort, I don’t even know if this makes sense, M/M, Nightmares, No shade ik they’re doing their best, Not Beta Read, Qrow Branwen Needs a Hug, Qrow and Clover getting together (kinda), Qrow “Bi disaster” Branwen, Read at Your Own Risk, Sharing Clothes, Spoilers for V7 CH12, but hey if RT can write their characters acting weird and OOC than so can I, characters might be a little ooc, confessions of feelings, internalized ableism, i’m just sad, panic attacks/PTSD, set before V7 ch 8, sharing a blanket, throwing up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:07:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22438459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldensword/pseuds/Goldensword
Summary: It was all a nightmare. It wasn’t real. He knows it can’t have been real. The crash, the fight, the murder—It was just a nightmare.He knows because Clover’s standing right in front of him, looking more than a little concerned for his wellbeing.So why does it feel so real? Why can’t he stop shaking?(in which shifting into birds wasn’t the only power Oz gave the twins)
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 39
Kudos: 238





	Talk it out

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Saturday’s episode was heartbreaking enough to pull me out of a 4-year writing slump! So have a totally self-indulgent one shot that I wrote while sobbing at 3 in the morning.
> 
> Some notes about this story:
> 
> -Set in the days before V7 Ch 8 occurs. The crew is aware of Tyrian being around, but at the moment they’re still just doin their huntsman things and trying to get Amity Arena up into the sky.
> 
> -In this AU everything still goes down in the exact same way, except the crash scene, which plays out differently because Clover and Qrow have a bit of a heads up.
> 
> -This fic is not edited so I apologize for any grammar mistakes!

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO—!”

He jolts up, breathing heavily, scream tearing its way out of his throat of its own volition. He’s shivering, and he’s covered in sweat, and he doesn’t know where he is or how he got here but he has to find him, he can’t just leave his- _him_ out there to freeze in the snow of the tundra...

He doesn’t even realise that he’s out of bed and stumbling down the hall until he’s stopped in front of a door in the Ace Ops section of the residential wing, staring at the 777 room number just above the door handle with his breath in his throat because _he’ll never occupy this room again, he’s nothing but ashes now and it’s all your fault—_

“Qrow?”

Qrow blinks. Once. Twice. Staring at the (extremely rumpled and confused) man in the doorway who _should be dead._

“I heard some shuffling outside and came to investigate. What’s going on?” A sob bursts out of him before he can stop it and it’s then that he realises he’s making a lot of noise out there in the middle of the night. Standing in front of Clover Ebi’s door. In nothing but his boxers. But he has to be sure. He pinches himself, hard, and when he looks up Clover’s still there, looking drowsy and more than a little concerned. “Come inside,” he finally says, stepping back and flipping on a light. 

Qrow just stares, still not entirely sure that what he saw was a dream, and it flashes in front of him again. _Teaming up with Tyrian to take Clover out, the punch to his stomach that broke his aura even when he should’ve been grabbing harbinger instead so that Tyrian wouldn’t have the opportunity to shove it through his chest-_

“Alright, that’s enough. Come on.” A gentle hand on his shoulder drags him back to reality as Clover leads him over to the couch in his living area. He doesn’t flinch when the lightbulb above them blows out, only leaving his side for a moment to open the curtains and let the natural moonlight in. Then he returns.

“Qrow, I need you to listen to me. I know you can hear me, and you don’t need to answer me right now, ok? Just listen.” 

Qrow stares at his hands, blurry through the tears, trying to get a grip, knowing that he’s making a fool of himself in front of the only person who can stand to be around him (Ruby and Yang don’t count, he reminds himself - they’re family, of course they’d have to tolerate him...)

“Qrow.”

The firm but not unkind voice snaps his head up. Those teal green eyes hold his as he repeats his question slowly. “Can I touch you? just nod or shake your head.” He sees Clover’s hands, hovering uncertainly over his own, and decides he has to try to keep it together. He nods, trying to reign in his tears as best as he can.

Those warm, warm hands wrap around his own, thumbs drawing soothing patterns over the back of his hands. “Good,” Clover says, “Good. Thank you. Now, I know you can hear me so just listen, okay? Can you do that for me?” He nods. The comforting pressure on his hands is grounding him, giving him real proof that Clover is here, Clover is _alive_ , and he isn’t angry with him. He glances up, and Clover smiles that brilliant smile of his. “You can get through this. I just need you to concentrate on your breathing. Stay in the present.”

And he tries. He really, really does. In, out. He’s sure he looks like a dying fish, and after a few moments he gives it up because really what’s the point, Clover may be here now but he died in Qrow’s arms—

“Hey now, come on. Breathe with me.” He feels one of his hands being pressed into the soft material of Clover’s t-shirt, feels his chest expand and contract. “Like this. See? Just focus on this, matching my movements. You’re so strong, Qrow, you can do this. Just focus all your thoughts on breathing.” 

It’s hard, but it works. They sit in silence for what feels like centuries, only the sound of Clover’s deep, exaggerated breaths and the occasional hitch in Qrow’s as his thoughts drift. Every time he feels the panic surge up again, Clover squeezes his hand, and he remembers: breathe. Just breathe.

Finally, finally, he feels like himself again. 

“I’m okay.” he mumbles, now present of mind enough to be embarassed at the fact that he’s sitting on his coworker’s couch nearly naked at what must be at least 2 a.m. But Clover, to his surprise, doesn’t look the least bit inconvenienced. The drowsiness he first saw has long since worn off, and he’s sharp eyed and alert, even as he drops Qrow’s hands and offers him a smile. “I know you are,” he says. “I’m so proud of you. Stay here, okay? I’m going to make us some tea.” 

He knows Clover isn’t going far - he can hear him muttering to himself as he rustles around the small kitchenette just off the room where he’s currently seated. He wraps his arms tightly around himself, shivering lightly and wondering if it’s any use getting up and sneaking back to his room before he causes a tea cup to shatter, or Clover to trip while carrying a mug of hot liquid, or—

“Nope, none of that.” Qrow jumps slightly as Clover passes by, walking past the sitting room on his way to what Qrow can only assume is his bedroom. “You’re doing great, Qrow, don’t fall back into it. You’re safe. I’m right here - I’ve just gotta grab something from my room.” Qrow grits his teeth. He isn’t a wimp. It was just....just a slight...freak out. He’s fine. He can almost hear Raven laughing at him. _“If you’re going to act weak, at least be honest about it,”_ her voice says. _Shut up,_ he tells it, staring resolutely at the hallway Clover disappeared into. 

He returns a few minutes later, a bundle of clothes in his arms. “Here,” he says, dumping them onto Qrow’s lap. “They might be a little big, but they’ll warm you up.” He stares down at the soft cotton, eyes wide. “Clover, my room’s right down the hall. I can go grab-“

“Nope! No sense in arguing. It’s freezing out in those hallways, and you already look like you’re ready to catch your death, and you’re not getting out of this chat that easily, mister. Now put those on. I’m going to make our tea. How do you take yours?”

He wants to argue, he really does, but Clover raises an eyebrow at him and he finds the words “Uh, cream and 5 sugars,” tumbling from his lips instead. _Nice one, bird-brain,_ he thinks to himself, but he finds he’s too tired to put up much of a fight on the matter of staying or leaving. The adrenaline he felt minutes ago has been ebbing, and now his body feels like it’s covered in a lead blanket and he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. Maybe some caffeine will do him good. 

The soft cotton shirt that Clover gave him fits him well enough, though it feels strange to be wearing white instead of his usual dark colours, the gear and staff emblem of Atlas emblazoned on the front in silver so different from the crossed axes of Vale that he’s used to. Still, it smells like Clover’s cologne, and he can’t help but feel a rush of affection for the man, and—no. They’re coworkers, and that’s it. There was no indication of anything else going on, and even if there was, his semblance would make sure it ended badly for one or both of them. Clover had to know that. And if he didn’t, Qrow would make damn sure that he did by the end of their ‘talk’. 

Gods, he needs a drink. 

His eyes squeeze shut, but before he can even begin to concentrate on fighting off the now familiar urge to go find his flask, the sound of footsteps has him opening then again to see Clover setting a mug with _Gone Fishing_ written on it in cursive lettering in front of him, full of steaming liquid. The other man takes his seat beside him on the couch, hands curled around a mug of his own (this one has _I put the tea in LGBT_ scrawled in rainbow lettering. Clover raises an eyebrow at him when he sees Qrow staring at it). Qrow looks away, clearing his throat. “Look, I-I’m sorry for wakin’ you up. I shouldn’t have done that, I know we have missions in the morning-“

“Stop.” 

Qrow looks at him. “Clover...” 

The other man sighs, setting his tea down on the coffee table beside the couch. “I meant it when I said I was proud of you, Qrow. Panic attacks are hard to deal with on your own, and I’m glad you trusted me enough to come to me.” 

Qrow shakes his head. “I wasn’t.....It wasn’t like that. I just...I had to see you. To make sure you were al—that you were still ok.” Clover’s eyes widen in surprise as Qrow sets his tea on the table as well, suddenly needing to move because his heart’s painfully thumping at being so close to him. He paces behind the couch, threading his fingers through his hair, not even bothering to stop the words that burst out of him like water out of a dam. “Clover. I like working with you. You’re quick, clever, great on the battlefield. But this has gotta stop. I work alone for a reason, and that reason isn’t going to go away because you can counter it. What about when your aura breaks? What then? You won’t have anything watching your back and I can’t be responsible for what will inevitably happen after that. People _die_ when they work with me, and—“ He turns to find Clover standing right in front of him. He expects anger, disappointment, _something—_

But he doesn’t find it. Instead, Clover’s eyes are impossibly soft as he takes one of his hands into his own and guides it up to his neck, Qrow’s breath hitching as Clover presses two of his fingers to his pulse point, letting him feel the strong, steady heartbeat that lies underneath the skin. “I’m not going anywhere, Qrow.” he says, and to Qrow’s surprise his voice is rough with emotion. “And you need to understand that you don’t deserve to be alone. You don’t deserve this pain. You’re a _person_ , not some walking beacon of misfortune. And even if my good luck didn’t counter your semblance, I’d still be here. You want to know why? Because you’re my partner, and I trust you with my life. I can’t promise nothing bad’s ever gonna happen, but I can promise that I’ve never once regretted fighting beside you.”

_I trust James with my life. I wanted to trust you, too._

Clover’s blood flashes red before his eyes and he stumbles back, clamping his hands over his mouth at the sudden wave of nausea that rolls over him. He can still see Harbinger, embedded in Clover’s chest, hear the echo of Tyrian’s laughter ringing all around him.

_“—row. Qrow!”_

Clover’s in front of him again, but this time Qrow can make out the gaping wound in his chest, see the white of his spine through the ruined flesh where _his sword stabbed him—_

And then he throws up. Clover’s at his side in a flash, holding a trash can up in front of him and rubbing his back soothingly, murmuring softly until he’s done. He’s sobbing, and he can’t get over how much he doesn’t want to have this happen, how much he wants to stay with this man, with the kids, but he has to go.

Even when he’s done, and Clover’s set the trash can to the side in case it’s needed again, he can’t stop crying. He can’t remember the last time he cried so hard - it must have been when Summer died. He’s aware of Clover sitting him back on the couch and holding onto him, rocking them back and forth and murmuring “Let it out, let it out.” 

Eventually, he stops, feeling even more exhausted than before, and just lets Clover hold him.

“So what was it that I said?” The question is calm, but Qrow can feel the underlying tension surrounding it. Clover’s walking on thin ice, and Qrow hates that he thinks he needs to be so careful around him.

When he doesn’t respond, Clover sighs, pulling back just enough to look at him. “Qrow. I want to help you. But I can’t if you don’t talk to me, tell me what’s wrong. what do you need right now?” 

Damn those big teal puppy eyes of his. Qrow figures that if he’s going to kill the man, he at least deserves to know about it.

“...I killed you.”

To his credit, Clover doesn’t show any outward signs of shock. He simply raises his eyes skyward and asks slowly: “how?” 

“What?” 

“You heard me. How did I die?”

Qrow draws back, draws even with him. Prepares himself for being screamed at, arrested, executed. The look of betrayl in those beautiful green eyes.

“Stabbed through the chest with Harbinger.”

Clover stares at him. Qrow stares right back. He’ll have to get to the window, fly out as a bird...It’s a shame he won’t be able to say goodbye to Ruby and the kids, but maybe he can find some way to send them a letter...

He’s distracted by Clover pulling his shirt over his head. “Are....are you stripping?” he asks incredulously.

Clover chuckles without humour. “As much as I’d like to say I’m seducing you, now is not the time or place.” Before Qrow can even begin to process that comment, Clover grabs his hand and presses it to his chest, right above his heart. “Look. No scars. No wounds. I’m okay, Qrow. I’m alive.” 

It does help, seeing that the other man is whole, but not even the sight of Clover’s (frankly beautiful) abs can distract him from the other thought that’s been gnawing at the back of his mind. Raven’s voice echoes in his head: _“I told you that Beacon would fall, and it did. I told you that Ozpin would fail, and he has.”_ He remembers the night terrors that took place in the months before Summer left, how he dismissed them as bad dreams, nothing more.

Until they came true.

“It’s more than that,” he rasps, his hand curling into a fist on Clover’s chest. “My twin and I—we can see snippets of the future. Death omens and all that. You’re going to die, Clover, and I’m going to be responsible.” 

Clover stays silent for one, two, three seconds, and then surges forward and pulls him into a tight hug again. “Is this what’s been bothering you?” He asks softly. “Is this why you’ve been so upset?” 

Qrow can’t even formulate words. “Wh—But—I just said I’d kill you! I can see the future! How can you not hate me!?” 

Clover rubs his back. “You’ve seen a possible future. Not necessarily the one that will occur. And look at you, you’re torn up. Even if you did kill me, I have a hard time thinking it would be because of malicious intent.” 

Qrow sniffles, hating feeling weak and pathetic and _helpless_. “We were fighting. Ironwood had declared martial law and was going to leave mantle to die through a massive grimm attack. You had orders to arrest me and the kids. I resisted, and Tyrian Callows, who we had in custody, escaped. I wanted to fight him, you wanted to arrest me, and Callows offered to take you out of commission so we could fight one on one. I agreed and we fought, and I lost harbinger. So I punched you, and your aura broke, and he—he stabbed you through the chest with my sword. You died on that tundra with only me for company. Callows escaped.”

It all comes rushing out of him in a breath, and he digs his nails into his arm so hard that he breaks the skin.  
“stop that,” Clover says gently, prying his hand away and covering the wound with a napkin from the table. He takes a ragged breath. “So, let’s talk this out.” 

“What?” 

“You said we were fighting, and Callows escaped because of it. So let’s work through the issue now, calmly, so that when this occurs we’ll have a game plan.” He sits back, pulls his shirt back on, and grabs his tea, eyes fiercely determined. “Qrow,” he says softly. “You seeing the future doesn’t have to be a death omen. We can use it to our advantage. We can prepare, now, and ensure that the worst case scenario doesn’t come to pass.”

Qrow feels the warmth rise up in his chest again, and hastily shoves it back down. “Yeah,” He says roughly. “Yeah, okay.” 

They talk. They talk until the false dawn breaches the horizon, empty teacups set aside, long forgotten. At some point Clover had gotten them a blanket to share, and Qrow idly plays with a piece of thread that’s come undone on one edge as he listens to Clover’s warm voice.

“...So since we don’t actually know why I’m arresting you or the kids, are we agreed that I won’t put you in cuffs, but you’ll still come with me to see what on earth could’ve happened up there?”

Qrow nods, not looking up at him. “I just don’t understand what would cause James to abandon Mantle like that. Our plan with Amity should’ve—“ 

“No plan survives contact with the enemy. James has to have been privy to something we weren’t. Please, Qrow, he hasn’t given me any reason not to trust him, but I promise, if we get up there and it’s something completely outlandish, I’ll stand by you and the kids.”

Qrow finally looks up, nods. “Yeah. Right now, the main priority should be getting that little scorpion-tailed creep into a cell. Even if it means I have to stay in one too.” 

Clover laughs, and Qrow feels his heart swell. He has a beautiful laugh. “Couldn’t have said it better myself. And, if it helps any...” Clover shifts so that he’s completely facing him on the couch, and Qrow is suddenly aware of just how _close_ he is. “I’ll be sure to write you long, sorrowful letters about how much I’ll miss you. And visit whenever I can to do dramatic readings of them.” 

Qrow can’t help but roll his eyes, snorting. “Clover, they can only hold me for two days without charges or a trial. I’ll be fine.” 

“That doesn’t apply during Martial Law. Plus, it doesn’t mean I won’t miss having your handsome face around.” 

Qrow’s sure he looks like an idiot, red as a tomato and mouth wide open in shock, but he still struggles to find a response. “I—what—you—what?” 

Clover looks at him evenly, eyes never once wavering from his. “Did I stutter?” 

Suddenly his mind flashes back to earlier in the night. _As much as I’d like to say I’m seducing you, now is not the time or place_. “Are you...flirting with me?” he asks incredulously. 

Clover rolls his eyes. “I have been since the day I met you, but thanks for finally noticing,” He says affectionately, and then his tone changes to something more serious. “Qrow. I don’t want to make things awkward between us. I understand if you’re not ready, and I don’t want you to feel pressured at all—“

He’s cut off by Qrow surging forward and wrapping his arms around his neck. He can’t say anything, he _can’t,_ his throat’s too tight and he can’t believe that someone as wonderful as Clover thinks of him like _that_ —despite his semblance— but he hears Clover laugh and wrap those warm, strong arms around him. “Can I take that as a ‘yes, Clover, I like you too but I’m really, really bad at flirting?’” Qrow nods, the warm affection rising once again in his chest, and this time, he lets it spread until he feels like he’s glowing as bright as the dawn that’s now brightening the horizon.


End file.
